


Dominate Me

by Jabberwocky (Sisterwives)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Barnacle Boyfriends, Choking, Light BDSM, M/M, PWP, Post Orgasm Torture, Rough Sex, Spanking, erotic asphyxiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 21:07:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8301056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sisterwives/pseuds/Jabberwocky
Summary: Hhectore answers to Napoleon most of the time, but in the bedroom, the roles are reversed when Napoleon wants to be ordered around and dominated completely. Written in one sitting AKA how I spent my Sunday.





	

Napoleon didn’t frequently smoke in the house, unless it was a post-coital cigarette. But the rain was coming down heavily now, and he wasn’t about to go outside and ruin his hair, so he settled for opening the kitchen window a crack.  

He exhaled a wisp of smoke as he eyed Hhectore, who had just returned from his morning jog. He had escaped the worst of the rain, but it had started to mist at the tail end of his run. His shirt, which was just a _little_ too tight, was slightly damp and clinging to his pecs, and Napoleon let his imagination run wild.

His smirk didn’t escape Hhectore’s notice. “What are _you_ thinking about?”

“Just how I want you to dominate me totally,” Napoleon casually answered, tapping the ash from his burning cigarette onto the windowsill. He studiously ignored the ashtray that Hhectore had long ago given him.

“Easy.” Hhectore finished wiping his face with his towel and threw it over the back of the kitchen chair. “Put out the cigarette first.”

“I’m not done wis eet yet,” he protested.

Hhectore approached him, and his usual towering height was even more pronounced when Napoleon was sitting down. “Put out the cigarette, or I will put it out for you.”

He had made this threat before, and Napoleon had expressed his desire for Hhectore to put it out on him. It had taken a _lot_ of coaxing (“I don’t think you realize just how badly that would hurt.” “Oh, I am perfectly aware.” “I know you’re a masochist, but I’m not _burning_ you!”) but he had finally given in.

And _god_ , did Napoleon want him to do it again. He rose to his feet, tilted his chin, and blew a thin stream of smoke directly into Hhectore’s face.

It had the intended effect. Hhectore snatched the cigarette from him and stubbed it out on his arm, a searing hot burn that made Napoleon gasp in mingled pain and delight (the two were often intertwined, as far as he was concerned).

It was just for a split second, then Hhectore flicked the cigarette into the ashtray, but the mark would last for weeks as a painful reminder of poor life choices. He would smile every time he saw it.

He knew it was coming, but he still yelped when Hhectore picked him up and threw him over his shoulder. It was mildly terrifying, being that high off the ground. Napoleon squirmed in his grasp, earning him a well-deserved slap on the ass.

Hhectore threw him on their bed and gave him a once-over. Napoleon stretched his arms over his head and arched his back to give him a better view. It was a lazy rainy day, and he was wearing his usual lazy day clothes: yoga pants and an old t-shirt with a vulgar slogan. This particular one said “I fuck on the first date” and was thin and soft, faded from being washed one time too many.

“You know I hate that shirt,” Hhectore said as he peeled off his wet t-shirt. He never liked thinking about the exact number of guys Napoleon had slept with in his younger, sluttier days (although it could be argued that he was still just as slutty, just exclusively with one person now).

“Why do you sink I wear it?” Napoleon raised his eyebrows and smirked, trying to goad Hhectore into making a move.

It worked. Hhectore chose to remove the shirt by ripping it in half, the fabric tearing as easily as wet tissue paper. Napoleon had guessed that that would be the response he got, given that Hhectore’s strength so often resulted in clothes getting torn in the bedroom, albeit by accident, mostly. Still, he moaned in half-hearted protest; it had been one of his favorite and oldest lazy day shirts, even if it _was_ on its way out.

Hhectore silenced him with a hand to the throat. He didn’t squeeze, not yet; he simply encircled it, which was easy to do given the size of his palm. He loomed over Napoleon, blotting out the bedroom’s overhead light, positively dwarfing him. Growing up, Napoleon had become used to being around people the same height and size as him, and the difference in comparison to Hhectore’s massive build never ceased to astound him.

Hhectore’s gaze drifted south. Napoleon was in yoga pants, and Hhectore was perfectly aware that he occasionally didn’t wear underwear with them to avoid visible panty lines.

“Are you wearing anything?” he asked.

Napoleon took a chance and decided to be coy. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?” A thrill of excitement shot through him as Hhectore’s brow furrowed with displeasure.

“I asked you a question. Answer it.” He squeezed his hand threateningly, a brief warning, before relaxing his grip. Napoleon loved this side to him, he _loved_ it when Hhectore asserted his dominance over him instead of acting like his usual softie self. Hhectore wouldn’t dare tell him what to do outside of the bedroom, and Napoleon would loathe being ordered around at any other time; but all bets were off when sex was involved. Napoleon was a needy and demanding lover, and he would be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy having Hhectore’s full attention while he was bossed around.

Hhectore hooked a thumb beneath his waistband but went no further. He was waiting for an answer.

“...Yes.”

“That’s better,” Hhectore said, pleased at the response. “Disappointing answer, though.” He tugged down Napoleon’s yoga pants to find a pair of thin, lacy boxer briefs that were responsible for the lack of visible panty lines. He was already half hard, even though Hhectore had been nowhere near his crotch yet. The sharp intake of breath from Hhectore at the sight only served to further stroke his ego and turn him on.

Hhectore’s eyes flicked back up to Napoleon’s, steel grey meeting icy blue. “The next time I tell you to do something, do it.”

“Maybe I don’t feel like following your orders,” Napoleon retorted, even though both of them knew it was a blatant lie.

Hhectore pressed down on Napoleon’s windpipe, and the restricted airflow made his cock strain against the taut fabric of his boxer briefs. The sudden loss of oxygen sent pleasure shooting through him, making him giddy and lightheaded and impossibly turned on.

“Touch me,”  he gasped around Hhectore’s grip.

Hhectore eased up, and color returned to the white marks his fingers had created on Napoleon’s neck. “Are you telling me what to do?” Hhectore said with an air of incredulity. Napoleon sniggered. “No, if I’m doing anything to you, I’m doing it on my terms, when I goddamn want to. Now be quiet.”

That was easier said than done when he was so excited and desperate to be touched. A whine escaped him when Hhectore gripped his hip, his thumb digging in beneath his hipbone, right where his anchor tattoo was located. He couldn’t help but moan again at the thought of a bruise blossoming there the next morning, black ink against a dark blue and purple background.

“Fine,” Hhectore said, the noises not escaping his notice. “Then we do this the hard way.” He clamped a hand over his mouth.

Asides from the power play, there was no real need to keep Napoleon quiet -- although he _had_ gotten a dirty look from their next door neighbor when he jogged by their house that morning, and Hhectore was fairly certain what that meant. Still, he took a sadistic pleasure in forcibly shutting his boyfriend up every now and then.

Napoleon licked the palm of his hand in the hopes of making him let go, but Hhectore responded by shoving two fingers in his mouth. Napoleon didn’t mind in the least, sucking on them enthusiastically.

With a parting squeeze, Hhectore’s other hand finally left his neck to push down his lace underwear and free his neglected cock. He braced himself against the mattress with one hand and removed the other from Napoleon’s mouth (a careful extraction, since Napoleon was reluctant to let him go). Thick fingers, slick with saliva, wrapped around his aching shaft, and Napoleon sighed in relief. Hhectore coaxed him into relaxing, a rhythmic pulse of his fist alternating with every other stroke.

His eyes drifted shut, lulled into a false sense of security by the soothing repetition. He forgot himself entirely, and as his pleasure mounted and his fingers clutched the sheets, he moaned in ecstasy.

Hhectore’s grip abruptly released, and his eyes flew open. “What the fuck did I say about being quiet?”

“I’m not sorry,” Napoleon said defiantly, then paused. “ _Maybe_ I’ll learn a lesson if I’m punished...”

Hhectore snorted. “I don’t want to take any of your suggestions, so I have half a mind to punish you by leaving you high and dry.”

“No--” The word tumbled out before he could stop it.

“--But I was planning on smacking you anyway, so maybe just this once, I’ll listen.”

Napoleon oohed, quite fond of the thought of an imminent spanking. Hhectore sat on the edge of the bed, and Napoleon eagerly scooted over to him.

“Come here.” Hhectore reached for him and dragged him the rest of the way, pulling him close.

Napoleon snickered and stole a kiss. “Yes _sir_.”

“Stop that,” Hhectore told him, pushing him face-down. Kissing went against the spirit of the supposed punishment.

Napoleon wriggled against his lap in response, simultaneously managing to be a “fuck you” and an invitation to be smacked. Hhectore spread his legs and swatted his inner thighs, making him squirm further, before slapping his ass without preamble, a stinging sensation that made him yelp in surprise. Hhectore rubbed the affected area, almost apologetic for giving him exactly what he explicitly asked for. Once wasn’t enough to satisfy him, however, and he rocked up into Hhectore’s hand, silently begging for more.

The anticipation was the worst, or possibly the best part -- that moment when he could feel Hhectore’s hand hovering just over him, not quite touching, but close enough that he could feel his skin tingle -- before he pulled it back and brought it down with a sharp crack. Napoleon swore without thinking, digging his nails into Hhectore’s clothed leg.

Hhectore was unpredictable, sometimes putting him at ease with light taps that tricked him into relaxing, making the next harsh slap even more. Napoleon bit his lip to keep the wanton noises from spilling out.

If he was anyone else, it would have been embarrassing, how turned on having his ass struck made him. He rutted against Hhectore’s thigh until he was forcibly stopped by Hhectore’s hand jabbing into the small of his back. The next spanks were more painful than average, perhaps as punishment for seeking out friction without permission. This time, he didn’t try to disguise his cries as anything other than what they were, expressions of mingled pain and pleasure, a verbal encouragement for Hhectore to continue.

He was left with a bright red glow, sore but gratified. He was too busy basking in the warm, almost electric tingle to notice Hhectore rummaging in the nightstand. He jolted slightly at the cool sensation of gel against his skin, then relaxed as Hhectore massaged it in, giving him some relief from the stinging.

Napoleon spread his knees further, and Hhectore reached a hand between his legs. He stroked him once, twice, three times, brushing over his slit to give him just a taste of the contact he so desperately craved.

Napoleon bucked up in encouragement as slick fingers teased him open and Hhectore’s thumb kneaded his perineum. He was so blissed out and receptive that it didn’t take much coaxing to ready him, which was a blessing. Hhectore didn’t want to waste much time on preparing him, not when Napoleon so badly wanted it rough and raw; this was only for safety purposes, to make sure he could take it without being seriously hurt. It wasn’t like other nights where he took his sweet time fingering him, trying to bring him to the brink with that alone.

“ _Please_ ,” Napoleon said as he tugged at the leg of Hhectore’s sweatpants, not too proud to beg.

“Well, since you said it so nicely...” Hhectore smirked. He pushed him off his lap and stripped, tossing aside his pants and boxers.

Napoleon pushed his ass up invitingly and turned his head, trying to peek behind him so that he could watch as Hhectore stroked himself.

“Turn around,” Hhectore told him, and he obliged, wrapping his arms around a pillow.

“Oh, _god_ , yes,” he breathed as Hhectore buried himself to the hilt, filling him so completely. His fingers curled into the sheets at a second thrust, then another.

Hhectore threaded his fingers through silky black hair, and Napoleon practically purred. His hand on the back of his head, Hhectore pressed Napoleon’s face into the pillow. Even as he struggled to gasp for air, Napoleon tried to reach for his cock, his need to come intensified tenfold by his need for oxygen.

He was denied the privilege of jerking off when Hhectore leaned over him, enveloping his body entirely. His bulk pressed him into the bed, trapping his cock between his stomach and the mattress, and Napoleon would have sobbed if he hadn’t been saving his breath. If he had to pick a way to die, this would be it, being smothered while being fucked. Death by erotic asphyxiation seemed like a fun way to go; at least his brain cells would be short-circuited by pleasure.

Hhectore released him, and Napoleon was able to turn his head to the side and gasp. He sucked down lungfuls of precious air, gradually regaining control of his mental faculties. “Fuck,” he managed. “You could have killed me.” That was, funnily enough, what made it so appealing though; Napoleon got hot and bothered every time he realized just how easily Hhectore could break him. There was something intoxicating about the knowledge that Hhectore could subdue him without breaking a sweat. He could feel Hhectore’s breath hot against his neck as he laughed.

“I know you and your body too well to accidentally do that.”

“Accidentally?”

“Not that I would do it on purpose, either. Even though I could. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“No, I would not,” Napoleon agreed. He shivered with delight as he considered how he placed his life in Hhectore’s hands, trusting him completely.

Hhectore reared back, wrapped an arm around Napoleon’s waist, and hauled him up to his hands and knees, repositioning him as easily as a rag doll. Napoleon hid a genuine smile at that; being manhandled was all he could think about all morning, and he was getting it in spades.

Hhectore fucked him roughly -- there was no other word for it, no coy “making love.” No, Napoleon was being _fucked_ , bent over double and loving every second of it. He moaned as Hhectore gripped his shaft, stroking him in time with each thrust. It was too much, and he quickly peaked, spilling over Hhectore’s fist and onto the bed. The rational part of his brain thought about how those sheets would need to be washed, while the rest of him was too far gone to care.

Hhectore pulled out and flipped him over, considerately avoiding the wet spot. Napoleon seductively slid his hands up his body, splaying his fingers across his chest and closing his eyes.

“Do it,” he urged, and Hhectore indulged him. He came across his chest and abs, leaving him sticky and used but thoroughly satisfied.

Hhectore stroked him, his thumb rubbing over Napoleon’s tender head. He tried to twitch away, too sensitive for the continued stimulation.

“ _Hhectore_ ,” he whined, hips thrashing as he tried to escape his grasp. It was too much, a sensory overload that made his pain and pleasure receptors criss cross and get confused. His toes curled in the sheets as he tried to ride out the unique brand of torture. “I _can’t_ \--”

Hhectore milked out one last dribble and, convinced that he was spent, finally released him.

Napoleon sank bonelessly into the bed, completely unable to move but so utterly content. He was vaguely aware of Hhectore getting up and leaving the room, shortly followed by the sound of running water. He didn’t think anything of it until he felt a warm, wet towel against his skin.

Hhectore carefully cleaned him up, making up for his torment. The bed sagged as he lay down next to him, and Napoleon opened his eyes. The intention was to look at Hhectore, but he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror and saw that he was wearing an expression that was disgustingly close to lovestruck. It was entirely disconcerting and unnatural on his features, and he was almost too distracted to hear Hhectore speaking to him.

“Live up to what you were fantasizing about?” Hhectore asked.

He tore his gaze away from his own reflection to look him in the eyes. “Yes.” He smiled.

Hhectore brushed Napoleon’s hair out of his face, where a strand had stuck to his forehead.

“ _God_ , yes,” Napoleon repeated, his eyes sinking shut as Hhectore gently stroked his hair.


End file.
